The Irish standard., 1887-01-29

tive Celtic. Most grateful was she Tor
our visit and for our Christmas offering.
But her words and her manner through
out were those of an equal, who wished
to return our kindness and courtesy in
her own way. She insisted on bringing
to us to the hotel some fresl,-laid eggs,
all her earthly treasure. Why should
she be under an obligation of receiving
presents from us without being free to
reciprocate?"
1t was the same everywhere the visi-
tors want. The spotless reputation Of
these lowly coJtagers is a proud and
priceless inheritance transmitted from
generation to generation. Their pure
lives and heroic struggle against adver-
sity would do honor to the noblest born.
The lofty sentiments to which they give
utterance, and the beautiful language
in which all, young and old, express
them show the careful Christian cul-
ture.
But is not this state of things, this
perpetual, this desperate alternative be-
tween parting with all that character
ICES civilized home, with everything
that can make it bright, comfortable,
habitable. in order to save that home it.
self from destruction, the last stage Of
existence for people? Is not Europe,
is not all Christendom, is not the world
looking on, silent, unsympathetic, mac
tive, while English statesmen and Irish
lanGlordism are working together to
extinguish the last spark in a whole
nation?
Lords Salisbury and Harrington. as
we'll as the selfish British monopolists,
represented by that illogical Radical,
Chamberlain, and his fellow merchants,
are resolved to end the Irish question
this time by making an end of Celtic
Ireland. If it depends on them, we
shall surely witness the finis Hibernie.
But I relieve that no people who have
for centuries believed in Christ, and
generously suffered all things for their
devotion to their baptismal faith, can
ever perish from among the nations.
And in the marvellous power of endur-
ance of the Irish masses in Ireland,
there is revealed an element Of strength
which will not only battle the ferocious
designs of Lord Salisbury and his fol-
lowers, but prove to be one Of the ener-
gies of the coming national renovation.
have been so far carried away by
the feelings begotten by the surround
ing misery, to which cannot close
eye or heart. There are, however,
thank God for it-many things which
this Christmastide among the noun
tains of Ireland force upon my observa-
tion, that fills my soul with hope, and
make me proud of these oppressed Celts
my own. flesh and blood.
Just year ago, I paid visit in
Rome to the Catacombs of st. Calictus,
and after kneeling reverently in the
lowly underground chapel, where the
sainted remains of no less than fourteen
Popes have been buried hurriedly after
martyrdom, I took comfort in thinking
how soon the prosecuted, hunted Chris
tians of the first three centuries tri-
umphed over the utmost might of the
Roman empire.
Do you know that bere in Glenqarif,
and in very many places throughout
Ireland, the Catholic Celts are still
condemned to live in the
Catacombs? On Christmas Eve, we
went from here to assist at early mass
in the poor chapel Of Glengariff, and to
20 to confession to the good parish
priest, Father Mangan, who lived some
ten or twelve miles away beyond the
The poor, rudely tagged
and whitewashed chapel remin Is one Of
the Catacombs, so strangely does it con-
trast with the beautiful Protestant
church not far distant, with its adjoin-
ing rectory, surrounded by gardens,
and tastefully laid out grounds.
Mass had commenced before we ar
rived. The two transepts and the space
before the altar were filled with kneel-
ing worshipers, wholly intent on follow
ing the sacred rite so dear to their
hearts. The benches along both sides
Of the nave were occupied by women.
many of whom were in their long Irish
cloaks and capes. Not a sound dis
turbed the stiffness of the place. No
distraction seemed capable of turning
eye or mind from the lowly altar at
which the priest was officiating with a
reverence that impressed me.
Presently the communion bell rang. I
expected to see dozen at most ap-
the table of the Lamb. I
knew that the night before, in the midst
of fearful rainstorm, Father Mangan
had been called from his distant home
to attend man taken suddenly i'll on
the opposite side of the bay. Arrived
near the crest of the mountains, how
ever, the good priest had to dismount,
to leave his horse in the nearest shelter,
and to tread his way, lantern in hand,
through the dOWnDOnr and the nitchv